Then he saw them. Christian stretched out in the filth, unmoving, his eyes shut tight. And the man they had seen behind the pillar, bending over him, fumbling with his breeches. Blinding anger surged through his limbs, making his movements swift…and deadly.
Christian did not hear the sigh of the blade as it bit into the thick neck, nor feel the hot blood as it sprayed over his face. He did not see Andre’s look of fury as he kicked the twitching body aside and knelt beside him. “Forgive me, my son, for exposing you to such danger. To take my eyes from you for even a moment…” And as he turned him onto his back, seeing the ugly wound on his head and his breeches tangled by his feet, he groaned “Oh, Christian, what wickedness breeds in men’s hearts.”
Tears came to his eyes; tears he thought had long since dried to dust in the harsh reality of his life.
The Dominican helped carry him to the hostel across the piazza and brought warm water and the boys scattered things. He hurried away again and returned shortly with a new tunic and breeches and sturdy woollen undergarments, paid for from the abbot’s purse.
Andre washed the wound and bound it with linen. The cut wasn’t deep but an angry, purple bruise showed the force of the blow. Except for that, he was unharmed.
Christian remembered nothing, waking up with a new set of clothes and a blinding headache. “I remember only the wonderful paintings and a kitten wandered from its mother.” He eyed his bloodstained clothes, heaped on the floor. “Perhaps I fell, though there seems to be a lot of blood for such a small wound.”
They spoke no more of it, the priest showing his generosity once again by bringing them bread and cheese and sweet, honeyed wine. They made their way to the docks at first light, not wanting to wake their friend to thank him.
*
Christian looked out over the wide lagoon and smiled. It was much more beautiful than he imagined, this pristine blue immensity that was the sea.
The water rippled gently, lapping at the walls of the pier, its blue the colour of the cloudless heavens, so that both the sky and the water blended into a soft, clean whole, divided only by the ocean laying just beyond the harbour, its white capped waves dancing on the horizon.
Galleys glittered in the water like jewels in a blue velvet crown, crewmen pacing their lengths and shouting orders. From the pier they looked like a nest of giant spiders, waiting. Those tethered to their moorings were crowded by stevedores loading bundles and rolling barrels, stacking goods in holds, pushing past each other on the narrow decks and cursing, readying the ships for departure.
Andre told him slaves and criminals manned the galleys of Venice, some for only a few months and some, depending on their crime, for the rest of their lives. He wondered what it must be like, to be manacled to an oar and whipped like a dog, knowing that most times the only escape is death. He could hear them singing, their voices undulating softly across the water, a unity of sorrow, their music a desolate, hopeless tune. But he pushed away the sound. For now he could feel excitement bubbling up inside him, smell the salt in the gentle wind and hear the song of the ocean beyond singing to him of freedom and wonders and unknown things.
He looked to Andre who stood at the water’s edge, talking to a one armed man dressed in bright pantaloons and a wide peacock feather hat. He saw him hand over one of the abbot’s gold coins and turn to point in his direction. Christian’s heart leapt. They were taking ship at last.
His head still ached from the night before and he puzzled over his small injury. He looked down at his new tunic and breeches, the finest he’d ever worn. Why did he need new clothes, the old ones were still serviceable and it was only blood. Andre had been insistent, he would need finer garments for their journey and the priest hurried away with his old ones before he could protest.
Andre walked slowly toward him, looking weary and somehow sad. It was the first time Christian could remember that he hadn’t a smile on his face. He promised himself that he would take more care of his beloved friend. He owed him much more than could ever be repaid. They were both glad to be away from this strange city where people of all races and colours walked but warily and money seemed to be the only currency of any importance.
Andre sat down on an empty barrel and smiled at last. “Well, are you ready?” Christian stretched out his arms. “Ready? I feel that I could take wing like those white gulls over there and fly to the Holy Land.”
He laughed and pointed toward a stately galley moored alongside the pier, its crewmen busy on the decks. “Behold our noble falcon of the seas. The captain is an Englishman, and tells me he pilots the swiftest galley in the whole Mediterranean. We will be drinking sweet Turkish tea in Jaffa in twenty nine days, regardless of the weather.”
Christian jumped up and ran toward the ship, whooping and jumping like an excited child. He stood fidgeting with impatience to board the bright painted vessel, but before they made their way across the wooden plank, Andre gestured to his pouch “I would know my boy, in which direction our destination lies?
He nodded and took the astrolabe from his bag. He aligned it with the horizon, adjusted the rule and noted the matching of the symbols and there, out to sea and straight as an arrow shot, lay the Quibla of the Arabs and Jerusalem. “Your eyes, were they stronger sire, would rest upon her shores already. I can almost hear the faithful being called to prayer and smell the spiced lamb in the marketplace.” Andre laughed and put his arm around his shoulder as they boarded the softly rocking ship.
*
Christian stared miserably at the sparse contents of his stomach spread across the deck. Laughter rippled behind him and he turned to peer through bleary eyes at two sailors watching from the stern. The younger of the two grinned to his mate and pointed “Ah, the sea is a harsh mistress. Look you, yon son of Neptune there. The lad has the feeble stomach of a milkmaid with child.” he snickered and pushed a wooden bucket toward him. But they were not unkind and fetched him water and a dried apple to chew on.
The first part of their journey had been blessed with calm seas and bright sunshine and Christian joined the crew in the daily life of the galley, mending ropes and scrubbing decks. When the men settled for the night, he made himself comfortable in their quarters, listening bright-eyed to tales of daring they exaggerated for his benefit. He was quite safe. None had failed to notice the quiet presence of the giant, steely eyed monk. They knew a fighting man when they saw one.
Most of the crew were Venetians, and Christian spoke with them in the simple Italian he had learned at the abbot’s knee. There were several Germans also, who begged for news of their homeland and he obliged, sprinkling his narrative liberally with plump cheeked Rhineland maids for the benefit of those who had been away the longest. The truth was that the country had long since been bogged down in interminable wars between its feudal lords, and the Germany they remembered held little resemblance to the reality now. As in all wars it was those least able who bore the consequences of their rulers’ conceit.
After those pleasant few days a squall had blown up that kept the galley dipping and bobbing in the water like a drunken horse and the smell from below, where the oarsmen sat chained to their planks, made him giddy with nausea and left him laying crumpled on the deck like a wet rag.
He’d kept no food down for more than a week and his skin stretched across his cheeks and his already thin arms. He was sure he could hear the rattle of his bones.
He saw little of Andre these days. Within days of leaving Crete many of the crew had taken to their hammocks overcome by the flux and he’d stayed below to tend them. He’d helped when he could between bouts of sickness, mixing sweet and salty waters for the voiding and holding bowls to trembling lips but as more and more succumbed to the disease, he found he could tolerate the stench no more and found a place on the deck to lie undisturbed.
Andre was grateful Christian had no stomach for the sea. It kept him above in the fresh air and away from the rotten stink below. He worried that Christian had more than just sea sickne
ss… that the typhoid raging below had a grip on him too, but whenever he approached the boy, he’d made light of it. “It’s just these accursed waves. I am but shaken to pieces and my stomach is in protest.” He had no illusions about the devil that had taken hold of them all. The fresh water brought on board had been fouled and the fever rippled silently through the galley like a baleful tide. With awful regularity, the bodies of those beyond help were tossed over the side to the circling sharks below.
Andre remembered the woman in the forest, still beautiful despite her ravaged mouth, and the vision he’d seen by the touch of her hand. She’d given him a priceless gift: a glimpse of his future. He knew that before they reached Cyprus many would have been consigned to the waters and most would be afflicted. He staggered, ignoring the pain in his guts as he made his way below with broth for those well enough to eat. He stepped aside for a crewman carrying the body of a child, little more than seven or eight years old. The man was weeping, for the child was his son. Andre closed his eyes in prayer, seeing the pale face slack and damp with suffering and gave thanks for the peace of death.
*
Christian washed down the deck and looked up to see a man sewing a dead child into a blanket. The man sat quietly, wiping away big tears that rolled down into his beard as he worked with twine and a big gleaming bobbin. He plied his needle carefully, his shoulders shaking, as he covered the boy with the stiff grey wool.
Christian could think of nothing but to fetch the captain, who came at once and began reciting the comforting words of a psalm in his deep, clear voice, as the father stood clutching the tight wrapped bundle in his arms, weeping piteously. ‘As for man, his days are like grass, as a flower of the field, so he flourishes. Till the wind passes over it and he is gone, and his place is remembered no more. But the mercy of the Lord is everlasting…’ The crew stood silently by as his father lifted him gently over the side and let him fall into the welcoming arms of the sea.
He’d weighted the shroud with ballast taken from the hold and it sank quickly, becoming just a smudge in the clear blue water. One by one his shipmates walked up and placed their hand on the heaving shoulders and then quietly departed, leaving him to his grief.
Christian stood behind watching but somehow, for him this return to the bosom of the ocean, with soft words, the sighing of the wind and the creaking of the oars, didn’t have the horror of the plague pits or the indiscriminate diseases of the towns. Here it was as if it was a homecoming, a return to a mother’s womb by loving hands. He looked up from his musing to hear Andre speaking to the distraught man. “My mother always used to tell me that the Lord never gives us more than we can bear, but sometimes I feel that much has to be borne before He gives us rest. The loss of one’s child must be the most unbearable sorrow of all.” The sailor’s head drooped and he sobbed into his hands.
Christian felt ashamed; he’d considered only the disposal of a corpse when he should have considered the pain suffered by those who grieve for a loved one. He hoped that with maturity he might be able to see beyond the bounds of earthly trappings.
Andre moved slowly to stand beside him and Christian noticed the dark lines of exhaustion around his eyes. “I have news, my boy. Have you felt the rowers quicken their pace? Land has been sighted in the East. They have turned the galley and begun their approach. Before sunset your feet will be dry.”
A smile creased Christian’s sun browned face. “That is good news indeed. I admit I thought this ocean infinite and I would be puking for eternity.” He suddenly became serious. “Forgive me sire, I have done nothing to relieve your labour. So many have been sick and here I lay abed like a cosseted woman.”
“Nay, Christian, even the heartiest of men have no stomach for the sea. I remember Gaspard wasting away to a shadow on this same crossing. He wept like a baby when the ship docked and kissed the ground when we disembarked.” He laughed softly “When he recovered he rampaged through an inn-keeper’s larder like a wild boar at a wedding feast.” Andre felt a stab of homesickness as he thought of his good friend and brother. He knew they would not see each other again. He offered Christian a twist of ginger root and they sat together on a coil of rope watching the white capped waves rippling across the water.
“Thankyou for letting me come with you, sire. I have learned so much.”
Andre smiled “I know my boy. I know. And yet your journey has not yet really begun. Have you a plan for what you will do when you reach the Holy land?”
Christian hesitated, realising what he had said. “I will go to Jerusalem and visit the Holy Sepulchre like other pilgrims. Then I will seek out the wise men there and beg their instruction.”
“A good plan…yes, a very good plan. And tell me again, what will you do with the knowledge you obtain?”
“For as long as I can remember, I have had a dream of carrying a light in a dark place.”
Andre stifled a cough and smiled “Go on.”
“And I think this dream is telling me to use this understanding to find a way to ease the suffering and despair that seems such a part of our lives, for it seems to me that the world would be a paradise without these two afflictions. And much can be attributed to ignorance also, so I would like to share my knowledge with all, not just the learned men but the labourers in the fields and the washerwomen at their tubs.”
Andre laughed and clapped his back hard “Ah, my boy! I have been waiting for you to tell me of your dream since the first time I set eyes on you, wonderful, wonderful!”
Christian’s mouth dropped open in surprise “How did you know?”
Andre’s hand stayed on his shoulder “Because it’s my dream too.”
They heard the creak of the oars and the quickened drumbeat of the galley master as the ship ploughed through the water and paid it no mind. They sat companionably together, a gentle breeze blowing now, as Andre told him how he came to be at Bebenhausen when the wagon driver delivered his special cargo.
Christian chewed on the ginger and forgot his nausea, losing himself in Andre’s calm voice as he talked of his rise from lowly page to knighthood in the Order of Hospitallers; a tribute accorded only the bravest of soldiers. He spoke baldly, with no pride. In Andre’s mind there was no honour in the wanton killing, the pillage and arrogance that marked his time in the East. He could see clearly now that he had been a pawn in an endless political game dressed up as a holy war.
Christian rose to fetch him water as he began to cough again, trying to hide a stab of pain and the grimace that crossed his face.
He told of blood running in the streets and soaking into the sand of the battlefield. Of honourable and dishonourable deeds done, the looting, rapine and killing of old men and women and children and sometimes…quarter given and mercy granted.
And he told him of Yiola and the infants and their dismissal in disgrace from the Order and tears formed in Christian’s eyes for the heartache his good friend had hidden behind his ready smile.
It was a harsh tale but necessary. As Christian craved knowledge so he needed to know what manner of man had been chosen as his guide, an ordinary man full of passion and earthly faults.
The sun lowered like a ball of fire into the sea as the galley pointed its prow toward the harbour and still they sat, the bustle around them unnoticed.
Then the green hills of Famagusta loomed up where before there was ocean and the captain bellowed to heave to, the oars stilled and lifted in readiness and Christian spoke at last “There must be many sad memories for you here. Yet you have come back?”
Andre looked directly into Christian’s eyes. “I know not why. It all seemed so clear at first. I told myself that if I returned I may be able to make amends somehow. But it’s as if I have been battling for the moon on the water.” The galley bumped the dock and a cheer went up among the men. “I’ve thought on this these last months of our journey and now I feel… that my true purpose surely has been to see you safely to Jerusalem.” He clasped Christian’s hands “In my vision of you
as a child, you asked my help only until you could carry your light alone. With God watching over you and guiding your way, you have grown to be a man worthy of your dream. So follow it Christian. I am honoured to have been a small part of it.” And he flashed a beaming, bright and contented smile.
Christian felt heat in Andre’s hands, saw perspiration beading his upper lip. He looked into his careworn face and understood now what it had cost him to make this journey. He felt his heart quicken. “Do you still carry your sword beneath your robe?”
Andre looked surprised, he hadn’t realised Christian knew of it. For once he was lost for words. “Yes.”
“Then relieve yourself of it sire, and worry no more on my account.”
What Christian did next took all of his courage. He gently pulled Andre’s habit aside, exposing the dark embossed scabbard and worn sword-belt that travelled with them unseen. The sight sent a shiver through him that he tried hard to suppress.
Andre did not move.
With slow, careful movements he undid the knot and pulled the sword and belt free, laying it beside him on the coiled rope.
Andre gazed steadily at Christian. “You have grown wise my boy. As you can see, evidence of typhoid is hard to conceal. You will make a fine doctor. Your hands are warm.” Angry red patches lay beneath his fingers. He pushed the garment higher to see the extent and saw that the inflammation covered the whole of Andre’s abdomen. Christian wanted to cry. The pain must have been agonising and yet he had said not a word.
“How long have you suffered this?”
Andre laughed and brought on another bout of coughing. He took a sip of water but did not answer. He sat watching Christian with his kind, twinkling eyes. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I would like to see the burial place of my brethren.” Christian nodded and went below to gather their things.
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